Namesake
by Revan419
Summary: In 1967, the masked vigilante Rorschach had an affair with the lesbian Silhouette. Unbeknownst to him, she ended up pregnant. Later, Silhouette and her lover were murdered, but not before she had given birth. The child will discover his namesake.


**_Author's Note: Some of the credit to this must go to my daughter, Josie. Without whom, this would not have been possible. This was originally intended to be a one-shot. However, if I get any feedback, I may continue it. _**

**_Story: (c) Me_**

**_Charles Zandt (c) Josie_**

**_*****_**

**CHAPTER ONE**

**THE BOOK**

**May 25****th****, 1986**

The doorman didn't even notice him walk in. The lanky sod was leaning forward in his chair behind the desk on the left side of the lobby, his unshaven face supported in one hand, the arm of which was resting on the polished oak surface. He walked up to the desk and slapped the bell irritably. No response. He gritted his teeth. This man was going to get him killed.

"Donovan!" The doorman grunted and fell back in mild surprise, his eyelids shooting open. He clutched his hat to his head with one hand and brushed invisible dust from his uniform with the other. "If anyone comes for me, tell them I'm not to be disturbed."

The doorman tried and failed to hide a yawn behind a balled fist. He scratched at his beard and sniffed. "Sorry, sir. Yes, sir. Are you expecting someone, sir?"

Charles didn't respond, instead pulling the satchel from his shoulder and passing it to the doorman. "Put that in the house safe for me. Don't open it."

"And your other bag, sir?" Donovan eyed the much larger duffel bag clutched in the teen's right fist.

"Don't ask questions!" Charles snapped. "It will be staying with me, in my room."

Donovan bowed in acquiescence. "Always a pleasure to serve, Mr. Zandt. Always a pleasure."

Charles glared at the doorman before turning to go. The man's insipid muttering pursued him all the way to the elevator. He forced himself to keep walking forward. If he turned back now, Donovan would not survive the encounter, and he couldn't afford to leave a trail.

The elevator doors closed behind him and he punched the button that would take him up to his quarters. He combed his fingers through his bright green hair, frowning in thought. Someone was following him. He was certain of it. Someone who thought they could profit from his death. Worse, he feared it was someone on the inside. Someone in Veidt Industries wanted him dead. The hotel had been a safe haven, but he could feel his security slipping away.

He was nobody important, really. Nobody significant. The company had gone public ever since the Cold War had ended. He had managed to land a job as Adrian Veidt's personal assistant, and had given special access to an estate in this hotel.

At seventeen years old, he had achieved more than most people would in their entire lifetime. He was indirectly responsible for the new sector of the corporation that was helping the unfortunate population recover from the devastation wrought by Dr. Manhattan. At least, that's the premise they had shown the public. The division's real purpose was to hunt down and eliminate Dr. Manhattan's cohorts, the remaining Watchmen. It had proven difficult, and they had limited resources to work with, but Charles was confident that the supposed heroes would be brought to justice.

He had never known his father. His mother, Ursula, had been one of the Minutemen: the premier group of superheroes throughout the 1940s. They had been the predecessor to the corrupt and immoral Watchmen. Silhouette had never spoken of her son's father. It was a mistake, she had said. It was a fling and the only good that had come from it had been him. Two months later, his mother had been found murdered in her bed, still entangled in her lesbian lover's arms, both victims of their own lifestyle.

But Charles had his own secret. A secret nobody knew about, not even Adrian. He was a vampire. In truth, he killed only when he had to. He was not fond of violence. But he still felt the insatiable lust that came around so very often. Human food just wasn't the same. Oh, it kept him sane and prevented him from starving, but little more.

The elevator pinged abruptly and he jolted himself back to the present, striding down the lavish hallway to his door. He fumbled in his pocket for a moment and produced a keycard, swiping it in the notch in the black box above the door handle. The red light turned green, pulsated slightly, and gave a low click. He twisted the handle and ducked inside.

Muffins pranced up to him, mewing softly and purring as she entangled herself in his legs. He bent down and scratched her ears idly as the door swung shut behind him. Then he noticed the mud stain on the welcome mat.

He always wiped his shoes. Always. He detested untidiness. He continued petting the kitten for a moment, holding his breath. Someone was in his estate. He pricked his ears up, listening intently. Nothing. He let out his breath slowly as he straightened, setting his bag down on the floor. Letting the keycard fall to the floor, he pulled a switchblade from his back pocket. The blade shown in the dull light. He held it up to his face, and his icy blue eyes stared back at him, the brow drawn down in anger.

He took his shoes off and crept down the hallway towards the kitchen. The wood floor was cold under his bare feet. Should he go to the kitchen? There was too much light there. He wouldn't have much of an advantage if the culprit was in there waiting for him. Before he could reach a decision, a low cough sounded behind the wall to his left. His bedroom. He crouched down and approached the doorway, Muffins trailing behind him, still mewing.

He held the knife out past the door frame and tilted it slightly towards the light emanating from the kitchen, using the reflection off the metal to survey the state of his bedroom. He couldn't get a clear view of the bed from this angle. He cursed softly, frustrated.

"You can put the knife down, Charles. I'm not going to hurt you."

His eyes widened in surprise, but he regained his composure almost immediately. He sneered. "Why are you hiding in my room like a common criminal, then? Come out here, into the light."

"Oh, I don't think so." It was a man's voice, low and slightly amused. "Subterfuge was necessary. There are a lot of people looking for me. Besides, I hear your kind prefer the darkness."

His eyes widened again and he felt his jaw go slack. How did he know? He straightened and walked into the room, knife held outward before him, peering suspiciously into the gloom. Despite the lack of light, his keen eyes could clearly see the figure on his bed. It was a man in his middle years, wearing glasses and a rugged jacket. His brown hair was unkempt. He had thick lips, and he smiled up at Charles as he entered.

"Really, you can put the knife down. I just want to talk." The man pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and looked up at him.

Charles didn't move. "Who are you?"

"I'm a friend of your father. Dan Dreiberg."

"Never heard of you, pal. My dad left when I was little. I never knew him."

"Never heard of me? You've been looking for me for a few months now. I guess Adrian hasn't been very forthcoming. But then, he always did have his own agenda."

"What are you talking about?"

The man continued to smile at him. "You can call me Nite Owl."

Charles tensed. One of the Watchmen. Here. In his apartment. He eyed the phone out of the corner of his eye, sitting on his nightstand. The knife never wavered.

"It's disconnected," the man said. "Sit."

"I'd prefer to stand, actually."

The other man shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me. This is going to take a few minutes. Where to begin…"

"Why didn't anyone see you walk in?" Charles asked suspiciously.

Dan ignored him. "Your father spoke of you to me only once. In the middle of the night, he came to my house. He was shaking. I've never seen your father that upset. It was the night your mother died. He told me everything. He said he had made a mistake. He said he wanted the best for you, but didn't know how to be a dad."

"The night my mother died…I was there! I was at home! Why didn't he come see me? Why didn't he help?"

"He was scared. He was ashamed. He was vindictive. He spent a long time looking for the bastards who murdered Silhouette."

"Did he ever find them?"

"No. He died before he could track them down."

"He…died?"

Dreiberg nodded wearily. "Last year. Your father was murdered by Dr. Manhattan."

Charles finally let his arm drop, the knife falling to his side. His father was dead. Why was he so upset? It's not like he had ever known the man. But there was this sense of loss stabbing him in the heart. "How?"

"In Antarctica," Dan said dryly. "John vaporized him."

"Wait. He killed him _personally_? What for?"

"For his beliefs. 'Never compromise, not even in the face of Armageddon.' Your father didn't agree with the rest of us. I can't say I'm happy with what we did, but it was for the greater good. John killed him because he would have spoken out and revealed the biggest secret ever hidden from the world.

"Your father left this in my possession before he died." Dan withdrew a small, leather bound book from his jacket pocket and held it out to the teen. "Take it."

Charles eyed him warily before snatching the book. He flipped to a random page, covered in handwritten, disjointed writing. "A journal," he said. The entry was clearly marked.

_Rorschach's Journal Final Entrey_

_Veidt's behind everything. Why? What's his endgame? I cannot imagine a more dangerous opponent. Used to joke he was fast enough to catch a bullet. He could kill us both alone in the snow. That's where we're going now. Antarctica. Whether I'm alive or dead upon this reading, I hope the world survives long enough for this journal to reach you. I live my life free of compromise and step into the shadow without complaint or regret._

_-Rorschach, November 1__st_

Charles snapped the book closed and looked up. "My father…is Rorschach?"

"Yes. He was a good man. He died protecting the truth. Dr. Manhattan didn't destroy the world. Adrian Veidt did."

"Veidt…No, that's not possible. He couldn't have. Veidt saved us. The Watchmen are evil!"

Dan cut across him. "Veidt chose to build a utopia based on his own idealized mindset. The world was heading towards nuclear war. Adrian felt the only way to unite the world was to trick it into believing that Dr. Manhattan was the enemy. He utilized John's energy signature to establish his reign as god of the new world."

Charles looked down at the book in his hand. Muffins arched her back and hopped up on the bed next to Dan. Her eyes glowed in the darkness. "Then this is the truth. Dr. Manhattan killed my father. Where is he?"

"He left the planet months ago. There's nothing you can do. I brought you the book because I promised your father I would."

"What do you want from me?"

"Come back to my place. We can protect you, Laurie and I. Silk Spectre," he added upon seeing Charles's confused look. "Veidt really didn't tell you anything, did he? I'm not surprised. I have something back at the house you should have, as well."

Charles hesitated. "I can't. If I leave, Adrian would know. He'd have me killed."

"There are already people trying to kill you. Haven't you felt it?"

Charles hesitated again. How much did this man know? He looked down at the book again. Rorschach. "I need to get my bag from Donovan," he said.

"What's in it?" Dan asked.

"Personal things."

"Is it important?"

"Very."

"Be quick about it. We haven't got much time." Charles nodded swiftly and darted out of the room and down the hallway, slipping on his shoes as he went. The door clicked shut behind him.

Dan Dreiberg took off his glasses and wiped the lenses clean using a cloth pulled from his jacket. Beads of sweat coated his face. Not nervousness. Excitement. Everything was falling into place. The boy was wary. That was good. It would keep him alive.

Movement from the far corner of the room caught his eye as Laurie extricated herself from the shadows. "I'm amazed he couldn't see me," she said.

"You never trust me. I told you it would be fine."

She came around the bed to face him and straddled his hips, kissing him fiercely. "So where do we go from here?" she breathed in his ear.

**_*****_**

**_Author's Note: Comments, questions, praise, critique? _**


End file.
